Forty Years Among the Indians: A true yet thrilling narrative of the author's experiences among the nativesJones, Daniel W. (Daniel Webster)
History
Forty Years Among the Indians: A true yet thrilling narrative of the author's experiences among the natives
Jones, Daniel W. (Daniel Webster)
Frontier and pioneer life -- West (U.S.); Indians of North America; Latter Day Saint pioneers -- Biography
He replied that he was selling on commission and could let nothing go
without the money. If ever two men felt indignant we did. We had parted
company with our friends, the two horsemen. They still had plenty of
money. They doubtless would have given us some had we asked them,
but we were sure of getting some from Martin. I also had several old
acquaintances in Denver who, no doubt, would have helped us, but we
felt now like asking no assistance from any person.
We had just forty cents and were four hundred miles from old Jack
Robinson's camp at Bridger. We know he would not turn us away. My
answer to Martin was "Bill Martin, you see these two mules; they are
better animals than you ought to own. It is only four hundred miles to
Jack Robinson's; they will carry us there in four days; we can starve
that long and you can't have the mules. Good day."
We bought forty cents worth of cheap cakes and started out with the
expectation of going hungry. As we crossed the bridge spanning the
Arkansas river, the roads forked. We enquired of a lad which road to
take naming our direction. He said either, but that the left hand road
went out five miles to Jim Baker's ranch. Here was a chance. Jim Baker
was an old friend that I had often met on the plains. I had taken care
of his brother, when snow-blind, while we were at Devil's Gate, so we
concluded to go there and see if Baker would be like Martin.
On arriving we were welcomed in the true, old-mountaineer style.
Although grass was abundant, he turned our mules into his oat field.
We told him about Martin, and he said, "Well now, I will go into town
every Saturday, get drunk, and abuse Martin for this until I run him
out of the country. I will never let up on him. Why he aint fit to
live."
Baker had his squaw fix us up some food; all we would take. Next
morning we started on feeling much better than when leaving Denver. We
met with others along the road who supplied our wants.
While at Bitter creek one of our mules got poisoned with bad water. We
got him as far as Jack Robinson's camp, leaving him and getting another.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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